Closer
by Rivergirls Anthem
Summary: [POST SONA] I'll never leave you...just need to get closer.closer. Lean on me now, lean on me now. 'Main focus on MiSa' :: Chapter 3: fallen, is up! ::
1. Need to get closer

**A/N : Hey you guys, I'm back again. Yes, erm- so I started a new story. You know I can never stand to see MiSa apart, esp after a season finale. So with this story, I will try to make it right. But I will only continue if you guys like it, okay? So please, PLEAAASE let me know wether or not I should continue with this?**

**Pleaaase review?**

**Love, XO**

**

* * *

**The liquid was brown. Darkness had melted with the small drop of white that had seeped into it, softening both the taste and the color. The cup placed to her lips, it's contenents filling her mouth. She winced and trailed a finger past the redness of her lips. The bitterness was still there. 

"Miss Tancredi…" a soft voice with a heavy accent shook her out of her thoughts. Sara's eyes snapped up to the person, her disoriented feeling fading by the second. She remembered what happened now.

"_You sacrificed everything for me once..."_

"_Michael – no"_

"_...now it's time to say thank you."_

"Are you ready to give your statement now?" She nodded, even though she felt nowhere near ready to lie. Michael wanted her to, and that made the task just a tad bareable, but he... She angrily wiped at another tear. Some thank you he had given her.

"_...and I'm going to do whatever I can to help you...okay?"_

Her tired eyes looked around the policestation. The white and lightgreen walls looked like they tried to put her at ease, but that wouldn't happen. Where she saw lightgreen, her heart showed her the dark and filthy corridors of the place where Michael probably was right now. It had all turned bitter.

She didn't even know what happened to Lincoln. Didn't even know where the brother was that Michael had saved, the _free _man. Had he once again been cuffed and put behind bars? Had his freedom only lasted half a day?

"So you are saying that the other man tried to shoot your friend first, before said friend fired his own gun?"

Sara gave a determined nod. "It was a matter of legal self-defense."

The agent raised his eyebrows at her, even though the warm, forced smile didn't leave his face. "Legal self-defense, eh?" His finger brushed his moustache briefly, like Sara had seen in several movies of the kind. After all, it's always the same story, isn't it? Boy meets girl, breaks out, finds girl again, girl gets kidnapped, boy finds girl on train, girl gets arrested, girl finds boy, girl kills man...boy takes the blame. The love is always a constant, even when they are separated. Because girl cannot live without boy anymore.

"Then why was he holding a gun to your neck?"

Hah. Good question. "Because he was afraid that you'd shoot him if he just walked out of there."

"A policist," the officer by the door defended himself in flawed english, "only shoots when necessary."

Sara cocked her head with a small grin. "We didn't know that at the time.The only reason why Michael came out with a gun to my face was because he was trying to keep us both safe for a moment." _Because he wanted to save me by sacrificing himself._

The men nodded. "That will be all for now. We advise you to stay in the neighbourhood, maybe check in in a few days to see what happened to your friend."

The screeching of the chairs made her shiver...it reminded her of the closing of bars in front of a man's face, his worried eyes darting around. The feeling of being trapped overwhelmed her. "Miss Tancredi? Are you good?" A warm, foreign hand forced her goosebumps to go down, but made her recoil because of the unfamiliarity.

"I'm okay." She put a strand of hair behind her ear and raised her chin in the hopes of feeling better. "I'm okay."

-

Lincoln was waiting for her when she got out. His brows were knit together in concern and his eyes looked at her intently. Sara blinked at the bright afternoonglow that covered the streets and walked into his arms. The closed around her, and she was comforted by the connection to Michael. Lincoln too know what had happened on that boat...and before. He was an eyewitness to the history that was etched into her heart, her soul and being. Lincoln knew.

"This is just another bump in the road for him, you know..." His voice uttered slowly next to her head. He sounded confident and strong, but Sara guessed that he only wanted to be strong so she wouldn't break down. Something he knew Michael would want him to do.

"Yeah."

-

Lincoln wrapped her in his arms, feeling her body tremble slightly because of the sadness that he knew must be rolling through her like the waves of a stormy sea. He sighed inwardly. Why did Michael always have to be the hero?

Because he is Michael, and that is what he does. His mind is constantly working, making up plans to save the people he loves most. And there is no doubt in Lincoln's mind that he loves Sara with all his heart.

When the spanish boy complimented 'not the boat' and Michael's eyes found Sara in the distance, the elder brother felt the waves of emotion flowing through Michael. Relief, confusion and most of all love. Pure love, honest love. Love like his younger brother had never felt before.

When they were on the boat, anxiously awaiting Sara's arrival so she could sail into the sunset with them, Michael had turned to him with the question to take care of Sara if anything were to happen to him. He'd nodded his head but immediately brushed it off by slapping his brother amically on the back. _"We're two inches away from the finishline, Michael. You can stop your worrying now. It'll be fine."_

A lot can happen in two inches.

"Have you eaten?" Sara shook her head. His arm closed around her waist and he led her down the street, to where he had seen a food stand. It looked greasy and filthy, but hey! It was food.

Sara gave him a feeble smile when she saw the 'goods' the man was offering. A finger pointed towards something that looked like a hot dog, and she cleared her throat. "One...por favor?" The salesman smiled and nodded, giving her a wink for daring to try on another language. "Lincoln, do you want anything?"

He shook his head. "I ate on the boat."

She nodded in understanding and turned her eyes to the heap of fattening ingredients now pushed into her hand. A big sigh escaped. "Well," she bitterly said, "don't have to watch my weight anymore, right?"

Lincoln took the blow and digested it before deciding to lighten the athmosphere a bit. "Michael will still love you when your fat, you know."

A soft laugh reverberated through the air. "Thanks, Lincoln."

He placed his hand on her arm. "Anytime, doc."

-

He stared at the liquid flowing from the walls. Drop per drop rolled into the small puddle that had formed on the floor next to his feet and after seven hours of it doing so, it stopped fascinating him. What held the thrill was the image of it that his brain received. Every now and then, when he blinked, the puddle would half disappear into the darkness, only to have one half of it reappear again. His eyes were swollen and stinged.

But when he closed them entirely, a whole other vision greeted him. _"not the boat, señor"_ Sara stepping out onto the boat, holding her hand to her eyes and smiling when she noticed him. His heart lighting up, the emotion that flowed through him...until someone moved in the neighbourhood and 'accidently' kicked Michael.

She was probably mad at him right now. He hoped she would be. Hoped that the anger would drown out the pain, only for a little while, until he was back next to her, pulling her close and telling her that he was sorry for leaving her alone. But that he would rather die than see her in a place like this. Her body would shake, like it had in the shed, and he would envelop her with his body, tell her that he loves her and that everything is alright.

His head swung back and clashed to the wall when another kick was sent his way. Deciding he'd had enough, Michael raised himself and stood as strong as he could. The rain was still attacking the doors and ceiling and he longed to feel it on his fingers. He could imagine her standing in the same rain and thinking of him.

Another shadow was painted against the darkness of the night. The rain soaked the man's clothing and attacked his head with millions of drops. Michael sucked in a breath when the man turned around.

"Oh my God."

* * *

_What did you think? Good? bad? Continue? Stop? _

_Pleaaase review and let me know?_

_XO_


	2. Nausea

**A/N : After trying to update all week, it seems like I'll finally be able to pull it off. Here's chapter two..**

**Could you please tell me if you like it? And if you'd have expected the 'man', and approve?**

**Please?**

**XO

* * *

**

"Papi?"

The crying out of the nickname was softened by the noise of the storm, but Michael could hear it as clearly as if it was being shouted next to his ear. He shook his head to clear the thought of it all being an illusion. He knew that even though his hammered eyes might play tricks on him, his hearing was perfect. Ever since he was young, Michael had been able to hear all sorts of sounds. Every detail was registered.

The man neared him slowly, his step heavy with pain. His arm raised and he placed his hand on Michael's shoulder while his ragged breathing filled Michael's ear. "Sucre?"

His arm went around his buddy, trying to support him as well as he could considering the circumstances. "Yeah...get me inside bro."

The stench filled their noses when he dragged his friend inside, pulling him towards the place where crates stood in the corner of the room. The cleansing water of the rain didn't reach this place. Michael studied the other man's appearance and inwardly sighed at the sight of the multiple bandages. "What happened?"

Sucre shrugged. "First T-bag bore a screwdriver in me, I went to the hospital and got out too soon. Collapsed and then some funny tourist guy recognized me from the tv and reported it to one of the suits. So now I'm here."

Michael shook his head. "You're in Panama, Sucre, out of the jurisdiction of the USA. They can't touch you."

He snorted. "Well, they did. One of those idiots probably offered to split the money for my arrest or something. Who knows."

Michael nodded in understanding. "Did you hear from Maricruz?"

"No." Sucre looked pensive. "But I _did_ meet Bellick, screaming like a pig while they took him away."

"He's here." Michael blurted out, before realizing that maybe he should have waited with that news for a bit. Sucre was a bag of explosives when it came to dearest Brad, and in his condition – well, it wouldn't be the smartest thing to light him.

"He's HERE?"

"I think so.." he held his hands up in confusion. "As you can see, Suces, my eyesight isn't the greatest at the moment."

A low grumble erupted from Sucre and Michael had to pat him on the upperarm several times before he calmed down. It was a trick that he had learned in Fox River, when Sucre was all wound up because of a nightmare he'd had.

_Michael heard the trashing in the bed above him and opened his eyes in a matter of seconds. Something was wrong with his cellmate, and he was determined to find out what it was._

_"Sucre?" he whispered into the darkness, praying that his cellmate would answer his call. He didn't, and the trashing continued to fly high while Sucre muttered incoherent phrases. Michael raised himself and stood next to the man's bed, lightly shaking him to wake him from the nightmare that threatened to consume him._

_"Sucre, settle down."_

_The hispanic man suddenly jerked awake and jumped out of his bed, pacing through the small cell. His breathing was ragged and he was walking around like a caged animal. Michael placed his hand on the man's arm everytime he walked by and miraculously, Sucre didn't turn him away. After a few pats on the upperarm, his cellmate finally calmed down, just looked at Michael, and crawled back into bed. The nightmare was gone._

Sucre started to breathe normally again and – just as he'd done that one night and many other nights that followed – looked at Michael. He was glad that he was not alone in this and that they were reunited again. The two men had become so in tune with each other that they always seemed to know what to say to set the other at ease.

A moment of silence followed while the men stared out into the rain, until : "Mike? What the hell are you doing here anyways?"

-

He awoke to the sounds of heaving and crying, and not necessarily in that order. Opening his eyes, he made out Sara's form in the distance, hanging over the toilet bowl and emptying her stomach. Every now and then, she wiped at her tears and let out a large sob.

Lincoln stared at the ceiling for a moment, before getting up and moving to help her. She, however, turned him away and clutched the toiletbowl tighter while holding her hair behind her head. He helplessly looked around the room and, flooded by relief, spotted a hairclip next to the sink. Linc the Sink had just discovered a tiny part salvation. How ironic.

"Here." His voice was hoarse when he uttered the one word to her and she gave him a small thank you nod before pinning her hair together and reaching for the bowl with both hands. He smiled slightly. "That er- that hotdog might have been a mistake."

She answered him with a nervous laugh. "You...think?"

"I _know._" He looked at her and bit his tongue. He'd always been the clutz when it came to other people's emotions, and on how to reacted to them. Michael was the one who comforted and hugged. Ergo, one of the reasons why Sara was like this. Because Michael, the man she loved and who loved her, wasn't there. He wasn't holding her close and wiped at her tears. Instead, he had decided to do the honorable thing and sit in a filthy prison, instead of her.

Lincoln had always looked up to his baby brother. This situation was no exception. _I'll take care of her, Mike. I won't let you down again._

His hand reached for the toiletpaper and handed her the role. She gave a small laugh and accepted.

-

"Sara's here?"

Michael sighed. "I guess. I don't know where she is now, if she's alright..." his voice trailed off and a rush of sadness washed over him. He closed his eyes briefly and smiled when he saw her standing on that boat, smiling. His own mouth curled its corners. As long as he could see that image, then he knew she was fine.

"And she shot the chief?"

"Chief?" Michael grinned. "Are we playing 'cowboys and indians' ?"

Sucre nudged him. "You know what I mean."

"Yes. She shot him. If she hadn't, then Lincoln and I would've been dead by now."

"And you took the tumble?" Michael nodded. "Ay, Papi...good move."

There was not a hint of sarcasm or blame in his voice, and Michael knew that he meant the words. He could feel that Sucre didn't judge him for what he had done, but admired him for standing up for his girlfriend the way he did. He would've done the same for Maricruz.

Michael grinned. "So, are you ready to break out?"

"You bet your ass I am."

* * *

_So? bites her lip Did you like it?_

_XO_


	3. Fallen

**A/N : Here I am again, with another chapter! Woot! **

**Please review? Please?**

**XO**

**

* * *

**She sat on the dock, next to yet another boat her and Lincoln had purchased with some money Marty had wired to her account. Her phonecall to him had been everything but the reassuring talk she had anticipated. Apparently, when you did something wrong on Panamanian soil – or in Michael's case : pretended to have done something wrong – they didn't care what it was, as long as they could lock you up for it. 

_"I'll see what I can do, Sara. But I wouldn't be too confident if I were you." His voice gently reprimanded her over the phone, the sympathy ringing through every word._

_Sara let out a big sigh. "He didn't do it, Marty."_

"_I know he didn't. But from what you told me about Michael Scofield – the man knew exactly what he was doing when he turned himself in. Maybe you should trust that...trust him."_

_She shook her head. "I can't just sit around and do nothing. Listen..."she bit her lip pensively, "what kind of papers do lawyers need in Panama?"_

"_Sara..."_

"_Marty. Tell me."_

_The sound of wheels turning in his head was a disturbing one. This moment was one that would determine much for the future. It could make, or break her plan. 'Come on, Marty...'_

"_Okay." He finally said. "Okay. Here's what you'll need..."_

Lincoln climbed unto the deck and walked over to where she was sitting, dropping himself next to her and handing her the beer he had taking out of the fridge. She eagerly grabbed at it, but before handing it over, Lincoln Burrows looked at her, long and hard.

Sara let out a sound of frustration. "What?"

He shuffled nervously. "Er – maybe this is none of my business, Sara, but erm...with last night and this morning's sickness.. I just don't know how far you and Michael went, before..." His fingers let go of the bottle and he placed his hands beside his body, letting it seem like he was completely at ease. Which he wasn't. "What I'm meaning to ask is, are you..."

"Pregnant?" She let out a soft laugh and put the bottle to her lips, taking a large gulp before setting it next to her. "No, Lincoln...I'm not. Me and Michael went pretty far, but mostly on an emotional level. The constant finding and losing eachother didn't leave us much physical romance – but it did..." She swallowed hard to get rid of the big crop of emotion that was pushing its way up her throat and took a deep breath. "It did make me realize that I love him more than I've ever loved anyone. More than I ever could..."

Sara straightened herself and looked in the distance, where the red sun was falling into the glinstening water of the river. Red and hot, it had begun its decent some hours ago – and she hadn't stopped looking at it ever since. The wind had picked up since then, it had become a bit chilly, and Sara had put a sweater over her shoulders, wishing it were his warm arms.

The sweater had been on sale.

"Are you coming in?"

She shook her head. "In a while."

Lincoln nodded and retreated back to the small cabin, with the two beds and a coffeemachine. He needed to start thinking about what Sara had told him a few hours ago, about her wicked plan to pose as Michael's lawyer in that place full of hellhounds and blackness. He needed to find a way to stay with her through it all.

--

"So, I don't think you've got the plans to this place tattooed somewhere, right?" Sucre gave him a weak smile. Ever since the boys had agreed on escaping the perimeters, his spirits had been lifted, if only a little. Without Michael, this situation had seemed endless. The constant muttering of Maricruz' name hadn't earned him much sympathy from his fellow inmates, and his wounds had hurt like hell – nearly as much as his heart did.

But now that he had found his buddy again, the one with a solution to everything, things were starting to look up.

"No," Michael let out a soft laugh. "Afraid not." His finger had started to claw away at the ground beneath them, etching one name into the dirt. "But I don't think we'll need it."

"What do you mean?" The man's eyebrows raised, nearly reaching the hairline he didn't show.

Michael's eyes looked around the cells, at the guards that patrolled outside the doors, so at ease – yet not guarding the place in the least. "What I mean is...do you see those guards?"

Sucre nodded.

"They've been coming around here once every _hour_. In Fox River, it took them eighteen minutes. What I mean, Sucre, is that something is off here. It seems all too easy." He shook his head. Something was wrong with this place. Something was terribly wrong.

His friend bit his lip nervously. "You want me to go ask someone about it?" His eyes skimmed the other inhabitants of the building, picking out the least likely to kill him the moment he opened his mouth.

Michael huffed a laugh. "Yeah, sure. Why don't you just walk up to one o' them criminals and ask him why he doesn't escape his place." His eyes widened when his companion stood and walked away to do just that. "Sucre!" he yelled out.

The hispanic man turned around and smiled. "No worries, papi. I know what I'm doing..."

--

Sara walked around the building, studying every little detail, the way she knew Michael would had he been in her place. Had he not sacrificed himself.

Sometimes, she felt like a worried mom who had just sent her kid off to camp. Was he eating well? Did the other boys play nice with him? Would he remember to send her a postcard, saying everything was alright?

A postcard...as if her conscience didn't already tell her enough about how he was doing. As if her heart didn't sting hard enough every second she thought of him.

The walls of Sona were low, but threatening. The darkness of the night hid the place with it's black cover, but the outlines were still visible. Still there, locking Michael away from her. She looked up and saw the few stars guiding her way.

Tomorrow, she would walk inside those doors and claim her right to see him. As his lawyer, his lover, and his friend.

* * *

_Okay, could you pleaase review? Please?_

_XO_


End file.
